


Ten Screws

by MapToWhereIAlreadyAm



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Acceptance, Forgiveness, Gen, Minor Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla, Post-Episode: s03e19 Double Agent Droid, References to Maul, Revenge, Self-Blame, Twi'lek & Droid Feels, but it's not the focus of this story, despite the title this is not smut, processing past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 12:53:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11081991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapToWhereIAlreadyAm/pseuds/MapToWhereIAlreadyAm
Summary: The high of reversing the power feed on Chopper and sticking it to the Empire has faded and Hera just wants to get Chopper cleaned up again. Kanan comes to help, exposing her tender spots.Set Post-Episode Double Agent Droid.





	Ten Screws

**Author's Note:**

> No beta.
> 
> Both concrit and pointing out editing boo-boos are welcome.

Only nine screws.

Hera closed her eyes shut for a long moment before sighing, opening them, and counting again.

There should be ten. Ten screws secured Chopper’s top to his frame. Nine were in her hand, and none were left in his dome. She wouldn’t have been able to remove it if there had been.

The moment when she popped it off, her droid’s identity began dissolving in front of her eyes. Now he was powered down and disassembled. No longer her longest standing and sometimes most suffering companion. Only a collection of hardware parts spread out on a mat in her cabin that needed a good clean and some TLC.

And he was missing a screw. And not just any screw. The ones that secured his dome were called Lasanian screws — an idiosyncratic variety from his home world. Regular screwdrivers worked on them, but the way they coupled with their hole made them particularly secure for the temperature fluctuations astromechs tended to encounter. They were also hard to find replacements for. When she had first pulled him out of the Y-wing all those years ago and began rehabilitating him, she had to wait nearly a year, between the war and their scarcity, to finally secure his top.

She fingered the screws in her gloved palm as she recalled the moment she first powered him up, domeless and battered, twenty or so years ago. His voice squeaked then warbled a string of binary that she suspected was a curse. She didn’t know what he had said, not fluent in binary at that point, she was only nine after all, but she knew he was pissed. And she didn’t blame him. The war had dealt all of them a bad hand, and she could identify with that.

And now she identified with the weariness he had exuded earlier. There had a been a moment of sass when she moved to power him off,just enough for her to see Chopper was still there, and not some remote Imperial control taking over his personality. This was followed his dome drooping, downcast photoreceptors, and limp arm articulators, each mirroring her own fatigue.

The high of giving it to the Empire had faded long ago. Reversing the power feed had been a heady experience, an intoxicatingly powerful one. But debriefing Sato, commending AP-5, and reviewing the security codes for Lothal had all taken time. When she and Chopper had slipped out of the hangar into the Atollonian dusk, her mood was somber, and Chopper was reserved.

Slipping her glove off to better feel the raised ridges, she fingered the nine screws in her palm. Delicately, as if she was seeing it for the first time, she studied them, feeling a complex mixture of awe and poignancy. Hera knew that the relationship organics had with their droids was complicated, and she didn’t spend much time trying to articulate it. Whatever Chop was to her it was significant, and that was enough. Enough to feel troubled at the day’s event and troubled that her droid was missing a part.

A rap on her door drew her out of her reflections. Locating a makeshift container — a cupped piece of shielding that protected Chop’s arc welder when it was retracted — she dropped the screws in it, not wanting to lose another.

“Come in.”

Hera had forgotten about Ezra. Since Sabine had left, he had taken to hanging out with her in the quiet moments before they retired for the evening. Hera usually found some manual work about the Ghost to tinker with. Ezra might help or, just as often, would simply chat about what was on his mind. They would discuss current events — how the new pilots were working out, the unrest on Sullust, analyzing ops. Or they might talk about whatever else was on a young man’s mind — relationships, finding one’s place in the world, values, and identities. They were a quiet moment of connection that she knew would be gone too soon.

But it wasn’t Ezra.

“Kanan. I wasn’t expecting you.” A smile crept into her voice.

She cherished her evenings with Ezra, but he would have pointed questions about today, and she wasn’t feeling up to them tonight. And since Malachor, Kanan could be hit or miss about his emotional availability, drawing into himself at odd times, even now, nearly a year later. If he was seeking her out, she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to be with him.

“You mind?” he asked.

“No. Come in.”

Drawing her legs up, she scooted over to make space for him on the floor, since Chopper parts took up most of her cabin, including the worktop and bench. He picked his way through the minefield of pieces. Hera found herself tensing, thinking of those nine screws and how they would fly if kicked. But she needn’t have worried. How he knew where to walk was beyond her, but every footstep was carefully placed. He was learning. She was learning.

“Your supply run with Rex go ok?”

“Like stealing candy from an Imperial baby.”

He settled in next to her. Close enough that she could feel his warmth.

“You’re enjoying those aren’t you?”

“An old clone trooper and a blind Jedi trying to relive the glory days? What’s not to like?”

Hera snorted. The sarcasm was reassuringly familiar, and if there was any bitterness, she couldn't detect it. No, only a hint of sadness that hadn’t been there a year ago.

“Time for Chopper’s yearly cleaning?”

“Yup.” She dropped a rag into his lap. “Make yourself useful.”

She plucked the nearest droid part from the dirty pile and began rubbing it with her cloth. She had completely disassembled Chopper and cleaned half of the pieces before discovering the missing screw. Somehow that oversight had halted her entire project, but now that Kanan was here to pull her out of her head, she hoped that perhaps she could still finish this tonight. 

Kanan held his hand out. A piece from the clean pile levitated above the others then flew with a soft thawp into his palm. He turned it over several moments studying it with his fingertips.

“Why that one?” she asked.

He hummed, considering. “It’s the dirtiest. Makes it easier to tell where I need to clean.”

He tentatively touched the inside of it with his index finger then made a look of disgust as he rubbed it between his other fingers, feeling the texture of it. “What’s the gunk?”

Hera smirked at his reaction. “Mostly astromech grease mixed with Atollon dust, but his circuits were overloaded today, so that loosened a fair bit of caked on stuff.”

Holding the part up, Kanan took a cautious sniff. “Loads of carbon too. Sure nothing melted?”

“Yeah, some of the insulation on the wires. I’ve already replaced that.”

He nodded, then inclined his head towards her. “By the way. Can you please not mention that I’ve been sniffing Chop’s innards? I’d never hear the end of that.”

She chuckled, glad for the simple camaraderie that felt all too rare as of late.

“How’s Chopper doing? Is he ok, after getting fried, I mean?”

“No.”

At Kanan’s raised eyebrow, she continued, “But I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Define fine,” Kanan said, grinning.

“Well, he’s missing a screw…”

She paused unsure why she had decided to share that.

“… And they’re super hard to get replacements for,” she continued. 

Hera picked up the bowl of screws in front of her, holding it up to Kanan as if he could see it. They rolled around at her sudden movement, making scratchy noises, so there was that.

“I don’t need all ten of them to reattach his dome, but it will wear funny and might squeak when he does that funny little head cock thing.”

And as the words came out, she kept finding more to replace them, each additional sentence rising in pitch.

“And he was counting on me to get him cleaned up and put back together, especially since it’s my fault his circuits were overloaded in the first place. And the worst of it is, that I don’t even know where the screw went. It might be somewhere in front of us, or maybe it’s rolling around the plains of Lothal and I never even knew it was missing!” 

Kanan put a hand on her shoulder. “Ok, ok. Easy. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

Hera winced at his words, unsure where the sting was coming from. She slumped back against the wall, tapping her head, trying to calm down, to not get angry at him.Pursing her lips, she gently placed the screws down and picked up a new part to clean. They worked in silence for several long moments, and she could feel herself cooling down.

Hera was impressed in spite of herself. She had expected Kanan to go through the motions but had assumed his blindness would hinder his ability to effectively clean. She would steal glances at the corner of her eye to observe him, although she probably could have stared. Knowing what she did about how he used the Force, he was probably seeing more about her emotional state than where she was looking.

Once she had realized Kanan was picking up on her emotions, it had felt invasive, as if he was reading her mind - until he explained it was more like reading someone’s body language. Everyone had tells, and some people were more expressive than others. Part of why he had been so withdrawn at first was because he couldn’t see either. Now he was relearning how to read her expression in the Force instead of her face. He was still reserved, holding something back. Maybe he always would. But as she was becoming more accepting of his new way of being, he was becoming more open with her. Somedays it was just like old times.

“Ezra mentioned the monitoring ship incident to me. Said you went full-on mama Loth Bear on the Empire today.”

It was a statement, but Hera heard the question and sighed. She moved to press her grease covered fingertips into her temples, before catching herself.

“Yeah. They …” she trailed off, unsure how to describe what had happened.

“Pushed your buttons?”

“Yeah…”

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Well...” Her voice rose in exasperation at his prodding, and she tapped the piece against the palm of her hand. “Yeah, guess I’m not.”

Kanan didn’t press her for which she was grateful. They worked in silence for a bit as Hera found herself simultaneously thinking and avoiding why she wasn’t fine.

And then she was speaking. “I—I was so — angry… what they did to Chopper…”

She opened and closed her mouth a few time, working her jaw, as she searched for words. “Then when I realized I had the upper hand, I was fine. More than fine.”

And the words poured out. “I knew I could get them. Get back at them. And as Chopper started overloading — I was a little afraid I was breaking him — but I was more excited that I was hurting them — the Empire. And then he was ok. I mean a bit crispy around the edges, but I knew what we had done and that those guys had to be hurting and that made it all worth it. A sense of justice.”

Her brows drew into a frown as she collapsed against the wall, her cleaning forgotten for the moment.

“But now it feels hollow. Short lived. I feel like I should be relieved or vindicated, but I don’t. I just want to—,” she gulped, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “—I just want to get Chopper back in shape.”

She stopped to look at Kanan, the eyes of his mask staring mournfully back at her. They matched his stoic expression — what little she could see of it between the mask and his beard. Kanan said nothing for a long moment. He turned his part over and over in his hand, pressing the rag into the grooves with his thumb. “You know, there are many aspects of the Jedi teachings that I don’t agree with.”

“Like the ones concerning romantic attachments?” Hera smirked.

“Yes, like my feelings for you.” Kanan’s lip quirked in a small smile before he shook his head. “But I think they had it right about revenge. ‘Revenge is not the Jedi way.’ Not as a ‘don’t do it’ sort of thing, but rather as an ‘it will only lead to heartache’ kind of way.”

“So what’s the alternative?” She knew he was only bringing it up for her benefit, but she was curious. Kanan rarely spoke about Jedi doctrine.

“This was not a question that 14-year old me asked or worried much about.”

“But it’s something you think a lot about now.” She stole a glance at him, knowing she was right.

Kanan nodded. “I don't know for sure, but I'm beginning to suspect the alternative is forgiveness.”

Hera snorted. “You want me to forgive the Empire?!”

“No.” His tone was not unkind.

A different Kanan — a younger Kanan — a sighted Kanan — would have said the word with an intensity that matched her own. _No, of course not! Don’t be ridiculous!_ But things were different now, and his voice only held gentleness. It was this new response that made Hera sit up and take notice. To listen in a way that she wouldn’t have done before Malachor.

“I’m only telling you what I think the antidote to the hate that accompanies revenge is,” Kanan said.

She was listening, but that didn’t mean she had to agree with it. “You know, I think I can see the wisdom of revenge not being a good solution, but forgiveness? The Empire is the bad guy here! I’m not stopping my fight against them.”

Kanan shrugged, seeming content to let the topic drop. After several moments he held his piece up for her inspection.

Hera raised her eyebrows. “Not bad. If I had known you were so good at cleaning Chopper, I would have put you to work to work on him earlier.”

“Heh.” Kanan leaned forward to place his piece back on the mat, in the “clean” pile. Another part flew into his outstretched palm, and he resumed his rubbing.

“You know, Hera, those folks who reprogrammed Chopper today? They aren’t Maul.”

“Maul?! Of course, they aren’t.”

Kanan said nothing and Hera frowned, gripping her part for a long moment. “What? You’re giving me a look.”

“I’ve got my mask on, how can I give you a look?”

He pulled it off before turning towards her and arched an eyebrow. His eyes, as always, just missed hers. It was a moment of levity that helped take the sting out of his probing. As gentle as it was, he was still hitting tender spots and perhaps that was his intention. With that realization, Hera’s knee-jerk response shifted into something softer and more open.

“You think my reaction today had something to do with Maul?”

“It didn’t?”

“No!” She shook her head emphatically. “No.”

She returned her attention to the grooves of Chopper’s third arm, the satisfaction of stripping off a layer of grime at odds with the way Kanan’s word kept stirring feelings in her, feelings she had been dancing around all evening.

“Well, maybe…” She considered it until lines furrowed between her brows, and she gave into the sinking feeling. “Oh… It did, didn’t it?”

“Maul took over your ship, captured your crew, probed your mind. Those all strike me as grave violations.”

“Don’t forget, he blinded you! Spaced you! And tried to steal Ezra!” she said swinging Chopper’s arm for emphasis.

“Today with Chopper, did that feel at all familiar?”

She chewed her lip for a second. “You know, I wasn’t thinking of Maul, but if I’m honest with myself, I felt a moment of panic. Fear followed by a desire for justice.” She shrugged. “Or vengeance. I’m honestly not sure what the difference is.”

Seeing that connection was sobering. Hera rose to attach the Chopper’s arm back to his frame, feeling the weight of uncomfortable emotions. How painful it was to not be in control… how close her family came to being destroyed… to being used like objects.

She picked up Chopper’s caster and a clean rag before sitting next to Kanan again, inching closer towards him. She was feeling something fragile, and his solidness was reassuring.

“You remember when Rex joined us?” Kanan asked.

Hera hummed in acknowledgment, recalling that Kanan had been unbearable to be around for weeks.

“How defensive I was? It took me a long time to forgive. He wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but, in my head, he might as well have been.” Kanan paused shifting to face her. “But it turns out, he and the other clones, they weren't the ones I needed to forgive.”

“They… weren't ?”

“No. There are clones out there who killed Jedi. And they received orders to do that. They are all responsible to one degree or another. It happened. I do not deny that. But I was angry. And I was taking my anger out on them.”

His mask remained off, allowing Hera to see his face cycling through a range of emotions as he searched for words.

“What I was most angry about was that I didn’t save my master. I was angry that I survived. I was angry that I ran. And the one I needed to forgive the most was myself. No amount of revenge could ever alleviate that anger I felt towards Caleb Dume.”

Hera had stopped cleaning moments earlier, and she now placed Chopper’s caster on the mat carefully, reverently. Drawing her legs up, she wrapped her arms around her knees. Her lekku drooped as she pressed her mouth into her forearms and breathed — slow, controlled exhalations that seeped into the fabric of her sleeve.

It made sense. What he was telling her. But something about Kanan’s words unsettled Hera.

Was she angry at herself?

She hadn’t done anything when Maul invaded her mind as he pulled out the information he wanted. Why hadn’t she fought back?

Sabine and Zeb had been counting on her as their captain. Yet their fate would have been the same as hers if Kanan hadn’t shown up.  

And had she sent Chopper today because he was expendable, just a droid? Was she being careless with her crew?

She bounced her head on her forehead as tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and bit her lip as the realization sank in. “It’s far easier to blame Maul or the Empire than look at all the ways I failed my crew, failed myself.”

“Hera, no. Maul is still guilty. The Empire is still heinous. But you don’t need to add yourself to the list of people to blame.” He slid a hand under her lek and squeezed her shoulder.

She shook her head, not wanting to feel sympathy. Hera was on her feet, Chopper’s parts forgotten on the floor.

“No, no, stop!” she said, her hands balled into fists.

She wasn’t sure what she was denying.

“Hera…” He rose and put his hands on her shoulders, stroking her upper arms, in a soothing gesture, only stopping when he reached her top pockets.

“I can’t do this. I can’t be a leader if I look too closely at all of this!”she said hugging her waist. “I have to keep moving, to keep working, to…” Hera paused to look at him as he fiddled with her pocket. “What are you doing?”

Kanan’s eyebrows quirked as he swiped a finger through it before plucking out something small and metal. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger for her inspection.

She stared. A Lasanian screw. The tenth screw.

Hera could no longer pretend. No longer sidestep her feelings.

She couldn’t keep track of a screw. One, tiny precious screw.

She felt the anguish of failing. Failing her crew. Failing her family. Failing herself. If only, she had done more. If only, she had said something different. If only, she had done better.

Her throat ached and her face twisted, as tears welled then spilled forth.

The events with Maul played over and over in her memories. How he had taken over the ship. How he stole her thoughts. She could see the ways she could have done things differently. But she never imagined scenarios where he had done things differently. But she had no real control over him, only herself. If the outcome was to have been different, it rested upon her shoulders to have made it different. When she lay down at night, she was the one who cross-examined Hera Syndulla hoping to find a different ending.

Hera wasn’t sure when she had fallen into Kanan’s arms, but her tears were now dampening his shirt. Between ragged breaths, his beard tickled her forehead as he pressed his cheek to her head. When the steady beat of his heart occupied her senses more than the thoughts in her own head, she pulled away. Scrubbing at her cheeks, then chuffed realizing she probably just smeared droid grease on them.

“Thank you,” she said drawing a deep breath. Hera was unsure when he had gotten so insightful.  “I guess I’m my own worst enemy.”

Kanan’s grip on her tightened for a moment, and she heard the smile in his voice “You’re in good company.”

Feeling tired and weak she pulled him to sit with her on the floor again, and a thought occurred to her. “Have you forgiven yourself?”

He helped her settle in the crook of his arm. “I don’t know. Most of the time I think so, but sometimes I’ll get angry all over again.”

“How did you do it? Forgive yourself.”

“It wasn’t so much that I forgave myself, but rather I accepted that these events had happened. I had done the best I could, given who I was. And at that moment the anger disappeared and there was nothing to forgive.”

Hera considered this, pulling his arm tighter around her shoulder. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

He pressed his mouth against the base of her lek as he murmured, “I don’t think you have to. You’ll figure out what forgiveness means to you. You can’t force it. But it seems to me that you are trying to make things right. That's gotta help.”

Hera pulled away to give him a  questioning look and he continued, “It’s like how you are taking care of Chopper tonight.  Not because you have to, but because you want to. How much difference is there between taking care of him and taking care of you? There is tenderness there. Chopper deserves that, and perhaps you recognize that you deserve that as well.”

Hera snaked her arms around him to embrace him before speaking into his chest. “Could it be that when you talk to me this way, you are taking care of yourself?”

She couldn’t see his smile, but she could feel it in the vibrations of his body as he chuckled.

And she felt the screw clutched in her fist, not remembering when she had taken it from him.

The screw she couldn’t keep track of, but was oh, so important.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to the younger version of ourselves.
> 
> There is nothing to forgive.


End file.
